Lithium
by Luche Bergfrue
Summary: Ivan has created an ideal world of obedience and distrust around him. Would anyone be able to break through the thick walls of his heart and see him through the icy facade? Or is there another reason why he mustn't let these walls down?
1. Stable

_Warnings: Angst, ideologically sensitive material, violence, and... more warnings to come in the future._

~~~ Chapter 1 : Stable ~~~

Name: Ivan Braginski

Nationality: Russian

Home: Located in Moscow

Eyes: Amethyst

Hair: Platinum blonde

Complexion: Pale

Height: 180 cm

Family: Katyusha Braginskaya, Natalia Arlovskaya.

Friends/Associates/Acquaintances: Raivis Galante, Toris Lorinaitis, Eduard bon Bock, Felikz Lukasiewicz, Yao Wang, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Honda Kiku, Feliciano Vargas, Lovino Vargas, Francis Bonnefeur, Arthur Kirkland, Tino Vainamoinen, Berwald Oxentierna, Alfred F. Jones.

The violet-eyed Russia read the manila folder with his name printed on it. A single year-old image attached by paperclip. "Oh, Toris, I did not know you cared so much, da?" The Russia closed the manila folder and grabbed a lead pipe that lie on a nearby table. "I-I'm sorry, I-" The pipe connected with a sharp crack against sensitive flesh, sending waves of pain through the Lithuanian's thin body. The Russian tossed the folder into the fire, taking care to aim it toward the heart of the fire. He turned to kick the groveling Lithuanian, but paused, as the man was still doubled over and clutching his sides. Ivan snatched the Lithuanian painfully by his hair. In a deadly soft voice, he spoke, "Be a good boy, Toris, and don't give Mother anymore problems, da?" In reply, Toris weakly began to speak, but coughed up blood on the Russian's face. Ivan carelessly threw him against the wall and left the room, wiping his face and pipe free of blood on his coat.

As he walked toward his study, he caught the stares of Eduard and Raivis. Ivan waved to them with a twisted sweet smile and entered his bathroom. Alone at last, he took off his coat, laying it haphazardly on a towel rack. Underneath the bulky material, he didn't wear a shirt. Instead layers and layers of soiled bandages wrapped his width. Pulling a small blade from his pocket, he sheared the bandages off. Wounds, both old and new, criss-crossed his body in an almost uniform pattern. Most stopped bleeding; he couldn't feel anything, anyway. He's never felt anything. All of it was fake, anyway. The smiles, the kindness, the joy, and the happiness. All that was real was violence, pain, suffering, fear, and hate.

Sheer _hate._

He sweetly smiled at the thought of the 'friends' that the burned list had mentioned. It lied. He had no friends. Ivan ran the sharp edge of the knife lightly along his rib. If anything, the beads of red liquid dripping down his flesh proved two things: His heart still beat and he could still bleed. This unholy and unsanitary practice began when Eduard had dared to question him about taking an odd amount of bandages everyday. Of course the Estonian's question was responded to with force, but not enough to break him. That was just for questioning him.

"Yo! The Awesomeness has arrived!" A Prussian burst through the door of the room, heading straight for the bathroom. Ivan, being jerked back to the present, put on his coat quickly and picked up his pipe. He felt interrupted and annoyed. "Hey Iv-" The Prussian found himself suddenly slammed against the wall, being held there by a pipe at his throat. "You will enter quietly." Ivan's voice whispered, deadly serious. "Wh-" Gilbert started, but the Russian wouldn't have that. He pressed the pipe harder against Gilbert's windpipe, causing the Prussian to gasp for air. "_You will obey Mother, da?_" Ivan gave him a contemptuous smile. Gilbert managed to nod, shaking in fear. "Get to work." Ivan released Gilbert who slid down the wall, nursing his throat, and watched Ivan walk away, terrified.

When Ivan turned into another hallway, Eduard and Raivis ran to Gilbert's aid, helping him up. "A-Are you okay?" Raivis questioned in a trembling voice. "Urk- yeah..." Gilbert wheezed, taking slow breaths. "Best get to work." Eduard adjusted his glasses, seemingly unemotional. Gilbert and Raivis nodded, the three going their separate ways.

Ivan took out a bottle of vodka and sat on a bench. As he opened the bottle, a heavy gust of wind wrapped itself into a miniature whirlwind of snow and ice beside him. A tall, aging Russian emerged from the spiraling storm. He fixed an icy stare on Ivan, his skin nearly blue; possibly frostbitten. His hair was as white as the snow itself, and he stepped closer to the sitting Russian.

"I am very sorry." The man's voice whispered, as though it were a made of the wind. "About what, General Winter?" Ivan took a deep drink from the bottle. General Winter looked at the frozen landscape covered in snow, "Your garden-" "It is fine." Ivan cut him off, looking into the horizon longingly.

As he imagined the land covered with tall stalks of sunflowers bathing in the warm golden sun, the general nodded and stiffened. His features soon became chalky and fell apart into little flakes of snow, as he was swept away with the wind once more.


	2. Reaction

_Warnings: Angst, ideologically sensitive material, violence, and... more warnings to come in the future._

~~~ Chapter 2 : Reaction ~~~

Another year, another month, another week, another day, another hour, another minute, another second, another meeting. It was a simple, unimportant, unannounced meeting with the "big eight". The room was quiet, except for one person sitting by the projector in front of everyone explaining every nook and cranny of his proposed solution to a problem.

The black-haired, brown-eyed Japanese man sat calmly at the oak table, noting every word said during the meeting. Kiku was writing as fast as he could on one of his many notebooks- one notebook for each speaker, himself included. There were as many pens in front of each notebook. Whenever a pen ran out of ink, he immediately grabbed another one to replace it and would go back to catching up with his notes.

The aryan German sat with his usual serious, stoic face. His masculine arms were hidden under an old suit, which was forced onto him by his conservative Austrian roommate. He had one notebook in front of him with very little notes. Most of Ludwig's notes consisted of flaws in each of the proposed plans.

The Italian sat lazily on the black leather office chair doodling a picture of his German and Japanese friends. His auburn hair was combed neatly, thanks to his German friend, except for one odd little strand that curled outward, which never seems to follow suit. He looked at the time and decided on a "siesta". Feliciano stretched before putting down his pen, resting his head on the notepad, and closing his amber eyes.

The Frenchman sat staring at the Englishman with perverse thoughts going through his head. Francis's blue eyes secretly spied on the blonde man with bushy eyebrows across from him, earning constant glares from said Englishman; he looked away when such glares occured. It was no surprise that Francis hadn't written a single thing on the notebook in front of him. He did, however, snap back to reality to point out something perverted. Only because he could.

The Englishman sat glaring daggers at the American, who was giving the presentation, with both arms crossed tightly. His bushy eyebrows knit at every word Alfred spoke. Arthur wanted to point out every single flaw in the American's plan. He knew he was being watched, but this was normal since his "magical friends" were always floating around. Still, this didn't stop Arthur from shooting a lethal frown at the Frenchman across from him every so often.

The Canadian sat with a confused look on his face. His brother's plan made barely any sense to him. Matthew decided to border his notes with maple leaves to pass the time. The blonde, blue-eyed, and passive Canadian thought it was better to look interested than to hurt his brother's feelings. Then again, Matthew felt that no one paid attention to what he did, anyway, after peeking up to look around once a while.

The Russian, as usual, sat with a small smile plastered onto his face. Ivan was glad that no one really knew what was going on in his mind. He took note of points in the presentation that seemed to have some potential, but nothing more. He had no plan to propose, so he decided to go ahead and suggest his usual premise.

The American in the front of the room explaining one of his many obscure plans, which sounded a lot more like an advertisement for a fast food restaurant chain. His cowlick bouncing on his head as he emphasized his points. Alfred's blue eyes sparkled as if every part of his plan was the "best part". Even if the over-excited American had barely any time to think of a plan, let alone finish it, the power point certainly looked flashy enough to catch anyone's attention.

"This is absurd, Alfred!" The Englishman stood up slamming his hand onto the glistening oak table. "That won't promote peace! All it'll do is promote your greasy, slimy excuse for food!" Arthur walked to the front of the pushing Alfred into his seat. The teen didn't argue and took a seat smiling and laughing as if this was no big deal. The other countries, however, were all too glad the Englishman finally took over. "Haha, as if you can talk, Artie! So, what was your favorite part?" Alfred stood up again, eagerly waiting for a response. "Mr. Jones, sit down, please. You had your turn." The German adjusted his sitting position, a hand covering his face.

Hours seem to drag on. Some presentations were quite short. Feliciano, the Italian, didn't even have a chance to go up, due to him being fast asleep in the comfortable office chair. Ivan's turn came and he quickly went up, offering his usual "speech" when he didn't have anything prepared. "Become one with Russia, da?" The replies were always an ensemble of "No"s and "Hell no"s around the room. The Canadian, well, they completely forgot that he was in the room.

Finally the bland meeting ended with no solution to any problem. Some people in the room stood up and began to socialize. A few took their time in placing various items neatly in their briefcases. Ivan, having brought barely any things, pocketed his small notepad and just sat there watching.

The clear blue skies and the warm bright sun lured Ivan to the big glass windows. He took a deep breath closing his eyes happily feeling the warm sun on skin exposed skin. His amethyst eyes observed the sky, tracing the barely visible misty clouds. The Russian imagined unending fields of sunflowers that went so far in the horizon that you'd have to walk for days to get to the other end. That is what he thought would truly be happiness. He then looked at the American conversing with the other countries. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Perhaps, having some friends that didn't fear you would be nice too. Without warning, the Russian felt inexplicably lonely and turned to stare longingly at the sky, once more.

Alfred's eyes drifted and spied the Russian staring out the window. The conversation he had just ignored was starting to die down and break off into separate topics, so the American approached the tall blonde man. "It's a nice day out." Alfred smiled, his eyes observing the view outside the window.

"Da." Ivan was surprised that the American had approached him. He found himself staring at the teenager. Looking back, he didn't exactly remember why they were fighting. He quietly hoped that it wasn't too late to possibly make friends with the American. "S'there somethin' on my face?" The Russian was dragged back down to Earth, and he replied, "You have beautiful eyes, just like the sky, da?"

Alfred didn't expect the compliment. Being thrown off by this, he half expected a threat to follow. "Oh, um, thanks!" He really didn't know what to say or think. "I swear, Alfred wouldn't know what a suck-up was if it hit him in the face!" Arthur stated from across the room. The American turned to face Ivan, the latter, obviously hearing the statement, frowned in response. "So that's what you're doing, is it?" Alfred had thought it was odd that a normal compliment could ever come out of the ex-communist's mouth. He grimaced, believing what Arthur had said. "You commie bastard! Sucking up to me? Really?" Before the Russian could get a word in, Alfred angrily stomped away.

Ivan stood there alone once again. He felt that this was the way he was meant to be. Alone. No one to care about him, no one to laugh with him, and most of all no one to to simply _be_ with. He left before everyone else. As Ivan left, he caught the cold stares of a few nations. All he wanted was to try and make friends. He thought the world might give him a chance at one friend, Alfred. Unlike so many others, the American seemed approachable. Ivan saw Alfred as the only one who didn't seem to fear him. He thought he had a chance. But that chance had already stomped off.

Outside, Ivan quietly walked onward. He turned back to the building to catch a glimpse of the dirty blonde looking down at him. Their eyes met for a moment, vivid blue to dull violet, before the Russian turned away. He sat in his car getting ready to drive to the airport and finally home. Home sweet home, they say. For him that's just another illusion in life to look forward to.


	3. Budding

_Warnings: Angst, ideologically sensitive material, violence, and... more warnings to come in the future._

~~~ Chapter 3 : Budding ~~~

It was just like any other day. The weather outside was slowly becoming chilly, once again. Ivan sat at his desk daydreaming, staring out the window with unfinished work on his polished table. Matryoshka dolls lined the window where he stared out from. The Russian decided to poke the smallest one with the back of his pen. It toppled over with a dull clunk. His mind wandered, once again, as he turned to gaze out the window, once more. Suddenly Ivan began to believe he was imagining things and rubbed his eyes. He blinked a million times more, but the figure heading to his house didn't disappear.

Ivan couldn't believe it. The American was walking to his house holding what seemed like a bouquet of sunflowers. He couldn't hold in his excitement and all but ran to the front door. When the knock came, he decided to wait a few seconds, to pretend that he didn't know who was behind the door. "Privet, Mr. Jones!" He smiled sweetly.

Alfred bashfully stood in the front of the Russian's door, extending his sunflower-filled arms to the amethyst-eyed man. "H-Hey, I'm really sorry about the other day. It was wrong of me to assume you were just trying to take advantage of me a-and I just believed anyone without getting the facts right." He watched the Russian's reaction, and was surprised to find Ivan frowning, seemingly not understanding what the American was talking about. However, Ivan's frown quickly transformed into a smile. In response, the American, too, found himself smiling. He wasn't happy that he was at the Russian's home at all. Alfred actually saw the move as a bit dangerous, but he took this as an opportunity to get close and find out things that the Russian could be planning. Alfred wanted to be prepared in case of an attack from the former communist, but even if that wasn't the case, having a strong ally wouldn't be bad either.

Ivan gladly took the sunflowers, beaming brightly at the person who had just given them to him. The sunflowers were as yellow as the sun, and their stalks were as green as a healthy prairie. Ivan lightly hugged them feeling the cold petals on his cheek, catching a whiff of their scent.

Alfred didn't understand how much the Russian loved sunflowers. Even before the American entered the Russian's house, he thought he smelled sunflowers. Then again, he had been carrying a fat nosegay of them. "Come in!" Ivan stepped aside to let the American through. Alfred observed the Russian's home; it seemed quite normal to him so far. Most of the paintings hung in the Russian's home incorporated sunflowers in some way. The American couldn't help but let his imagination go. He imagined pushing a painting aside and a trap door would suddenly open, or tipping a bust of one of Ivan's past leaders aside to reveal a door behind the bookshelves.

Ivan looked around to find a vase or something that would hold the sunflowers. "Toris!" He walked in the kitchen, abandoning his guest. "Is there a vase around here somewhere?" The Russian held the sunflowers in his arms as if it was a precious child. "I believe I saw one in the storage room, I'll go get it right now." The Lithuanian put down a plate that he was washing. "No need, Ivan will get it himself, da?" The Russian left the kitchen happily. The brown-haired man, finding Ivan's actions quite odd, shrugged it off and returned to his work.

When the Russian returned, he found Alfred pushing a painting from side to side. "What are you doing?" Ivan walked up behind the American, curiously watching him. Alfred yelped, and faced the Russian and stopping the painting from swaying. "I, uh, I just wanted to see the image in another… uh… Perspective! Yeah! It's a really nice p-painting of a sunflower!" The American quietly cursed at himself for getting distracted. The amethyst-eyed man just stared, thinking _It must be an American thing._ "Ivan is going to get a vase for the sunflowers. Would you like to accompany me?" "Sure!" The American replied, happily.

The American followed the Russian into an old storage room. Alfred saw this as an opportunity to weasel information from Ivan. The dirty blonde teen often asked Arthur about various things, when in his storage room, and the Englishman would often begin retelling stories of fantastic tales and fanciful stories. He assumed it would have the same effect on Ivan, instead causing the Russian to possibly let confidential information slip.

As they entered, it was dark and it smelled of dust. Ivan fumbled in the darkness until he found the light switch. "Ah, here it is!" The dark room was illuminated revealing many old boxes stacked on top each other. "Please, hold this for a moment, da?" The Russian handed the sunflowers to Alfred and began his search for a vase.

The American held the sunflowers in one hand. "Oh, lemme help!" As he began to dig through the boxes, the Russian didn't seem to mind Alfred rummaging through the artifacts. Alfred pulled out a heavy black coat with gold epaulets. It seemed to be in well-kept condition; Alfred assumed it was worn often. He dared to ask why it was in the box. "Hey, Ivan, what's this?" Alfred held it up high enough for Ivan to identify what it was. There was no reply for a few seconds. "That is my old uniform." The Russian replied not bothering to look back, once recognizing it. "Oh," came Alfred's simple retort.

There are many reasons why a nation might decide to change his uniform. It may be because its no longer practical, or a better one had been made. It could be that it was worn and old. It could also be that it was ruined and was no longer useful. Though, despite all these reasons, a uniform is just like any other object once given to a person. It can bring up memories, both good and bad. Alfred, knowing this by experience, returned the coat into the box the way he had found it. He didn't ask about the coat again, and continued to search through the many boxes.

As he searched, a colorful garment caught his eye. "What's this?" Alfred held up a red, long-sleeved shirt with black, yellow, and blue beautifully embroidered flowers artfully strewn across the fabric. "That is a kosovorotka!" The Russian turned to the American. "A whaty-what-now?" Alfred raised an eyebrow. "My traditional clothing!" The Russian smiled proudly. "Oh! It's really colourful!" Alfred complimented looking closely at the fine embroidery. "Spasibo!" Ivan couldn't help but giggle a bit from the compliment. "Come again?" Alfred helplessly stared at Ivan, needing a translation. "Thank you." Ivan gladly translated for the American. "Oh." The teen nodded, taking note of the word and its meaning. "Want to try it on?" Ivan beamed approaching Alfred. "Oh no! That's okay! Uh, let's find that vase, okay?" The American really didn't want to try it on; he wasn't really keen on wearing any clothing that the ex-communist owned. "Da!" Ivan quickly went back to searching.

The two didn't notice the time fly by, or the setting sun. It took longer than they both thought to find a single vase for the sunflowers. Alfred nearly squished the poor sunflowers as he went through the boxes pulling out random things that caught his eye. The teen was so focused in trying to remember all the Russian words he was learning that went with the things he would find in the dusty old boxes, he completely forgot he was there to get information out of Ivan.

"Um, Ivan?" Toris knocked on the door of the storage room. "Da?" The Russian breathlessly looked up, pausing his search. In Toris's hands was a tall glass vase. "I found one in one of the cupboards." The Lithuanian looked around the room, shocked to find the old traditional clothing lying on some of the open boxes. Alfred followed the brown-haired man's gaze around the room and began to laugh uneasily. "Sorry! I'll go n' fix that!" The Russian stopped his American guest. "Nyet, it is fine!" Alfred handed Toris the sunflowers. "I'll go put these somewhere." The Lithuanian left for the kitchen. Ivan began to clean up and close the old boxes. Despite being told not to, Alfred helped him clean up anyway.

Finally the storage room looked like the way it did when they went into it, but with much less dust. Ivan sneezed loudly rubbing his nose. "We should get out of here." Alfred laughed being caught off guard by the sneeze. "Da." The Russian couldn't agree more.

The American glanced out the window and noticed how dark it was outside. Alfred checked his wrist watch and was surprised at how late it was. "Oh, crap, I have to go!" The Russian appeared sad, hearing this. "Will you come over again?" Alfred's thoughts returned to how he hadn't gotten any sort of information, as of yet, and replied, "Of course!" Ivan escorted the American to the door and finally waved goodbye, smiling happily.

When Ivan closed the door, he saw the sunflowers on a table outside the kitchen door, resting in the tall vase filled to the top with water. The Russian found himself smiling, when it struck him. Why would Alfred bring him flowers just to apologize? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. The Lithuanian walked out of the kitchen to call the rest of the Baltics and the Russian for dinner. "Ivan, dinner is ready." The Russian slowly turned to Toris seemingly flushed with his hand over his mouth. Ivan, beaming once again, simply replied, "Da."


End file.
